


Kiss Me In The Dark

by taormina



Category: Take That (Band)
Genre: First Time, Hotel Sex, M/M, Mark is a cheeky little sod, Porn With Plot, Sharing a Bed, Smut, also fluffy in places, ft. Star Wars boxers, gary is inexperienced and adorable, handjob, i'm quite pleased with this, touring life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 23:23:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3955813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taormina/pseuds/taormina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the heater in Gary’s hotel room malfunctions in the middle of the night, Mark offers to warm Gary up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me In The Dark

Like so many things in life, being in one of the biggest bands Britain has ever seen has its upsides and downsides. Travelling to cities some people could only ever dream of visiting is unquestionably one of its upsides, as is performing to 20,000 people almost every night. Spending almost every night in a different hotel, however? _Bloody awful._

Unlike Howard, who usually went to bed between one and three in the morning on a non-tour night, Gary loved having a routine in his life. _Needed_ the routine. He liked going to bed at nine. Getting up early. Doing a bit of exercise before meeting the others at breakfast. If Gary didn’t commit to this gruelling routine every single day of the tour, there was no chance he’d be able to keep going. He’d _have_ to stay fit, or otherwise he’d be letting himself, his mates, and the fans down. He couldn’t show up at the arena the next day with the previous night still in his system.

Unfortunately, he’d been dealt a bad card tonight — they’d all had: despite its grandness, the hotel Take That and their talented band were staying at was _shit._

 (Mind you, it was more a country mansion than a hotel, with long, winding staircases and bedrooms larger than most people’s houses. Think BBC2 period drama.)

Gary had long ago lost track of what day it was and where they were staying (he had yet to get it wrong during a gig though, thank God; he’d hate to say ‘GOOD EVENING BELFAAAAST!’ in London or something), but he _did_ know that they were never booking this hotel again: _it was fucking freezing._

In other words, it was 11PM and they were supposed to be heading to a new arena in a new town tomorrow morning, but Gary couldn’t sleep because the heater in his room had broken down, he was cold, it was snowing in the middle of fucking May and _Jesus Christ why do I have to put up with this._

Gary did at least _try_ to make himself more comfortable. First, despite preferring to sleep with as few clothes on; now _there’s_ an image, he put a grey tour hoodie, which was slightly too big for him, and fucking itchy. Then, he retrieved an extra blanket from one of the large Edwardian era-esque closets, which didn’t help either. Even the God awful socks Howard had gotten him from some dodgy souvenir shop in Dublin did nothing.

Nothing Gary did could stop the cold from latching onto his skin and making it the only thing he could think about.

Sleeping in a tent would be more comfortable right now.

He’d have to warm up, fast.

When trying the heater again didn’t work either, Gary decided to head out of his room and make himself a cup of tea in the kitchen. They had the entire hotel/mansion to themselves (again, one of the benefits of being in a band with many, many contacts), so he could saunter off without being mobbed by supporters. Gone were the days when girls used to pretend they were hotel maids in order to be in the same room as them, thank God.

However, the mansion being ostentatiously large, Gary soon got lost. He tried hallway after hallway, door after door, but most of them were either closed or led to places where Gary had no business being.

Gary was about to turn a corner when someone tapped his shoulder lightly. Assuming he was one of the only ones still awake, he practically jumped out of his skin and nearly fell over out of fright. It wasn’t an elegant sight.

‘Jeeesus, Mark!’ exclaimed Gary upon finding out that Mark was his perpetrator. He clutched his chest dramatically and breathed in and out fast. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack there, you dope. Christ.’

‘Sorry,’ said Mark. He sounded genuinely sorry, and he eyed Gary worriedly. ‘Thought you looked lost, is all.’  
  
Mark was wearing silk, pink pyjamas. On most men this outfit would have looked ridiculous, but on Mark, who was used to wearing sparkly catsuits, and coats that looked like they were made of Big Bird from Sesame Street, it looked slightly endearing, like he was heading to a children’s pyjama party. Don’t be fooled, though; said pair of pyjamas was more expensive than your average Primark equivalent. God forbid if something were to happen to it ...

Mark rubbed his nose. ‘Nice boxers, by the way.’

That’s right: for Gary loathed sleeping in many layers of clothing, Gary had not bothered to put on pyjama trousers and was still walking around their private hotel in his Star Wars boxers and the tour hoodie that was slightly too big for him. As Gary had thighs that looked like they could kill you during an act of love-making, it was a strangely attractive display.

Gary pulled down his hoodie. He was suddenly feeling very self-conscious. ‘Thanks.’

‘Limited edition?’

Gary looked down. ‘D’you know what, I think they are, actually.’

‘Hm,’ said Mark. He wasn’t really listening, and he leaned against a pillar and crossed his arms. They were in a long, rectangular hallway with doors on one side and high windows on the other. The moonlight was their only light source, which made it very difficult for Gary to notice that Mark’s eyes had lingered on his boxers and legs a little longer than strictly necessary. ‘So what’re you still doing up?’

Gary sighed. ‘Can’t sleep. I feel like I’m about to freeze to death, me room’s so cold.’ A shiver ran down his back as he said it, and he became very aware of the fact that they were staying at an old mansion. The place could be haunted for all he knew.

Mark went _oof_. ‘Tell me about it, mine’s the same. Has _your_ heater stopped working as well?’

Gary nodded and hid his hands inside the large pockets of his hoodie. He _really_ hoped the mansion wasn’t haunted. ‘If I don’t get sleep soon I’m gonna have trouble getting me act together tomorrow.’

Mark stared into the distance with a look of contemplation in his features. Gary’s comments had solidified the idea he’d been sitting on for a while now, and Mark was seriously considering sharing it with him now. He knew perfectly well that it was a bloody awful idea and quite possibly a massive, massive risk if things went south, but it was a risk Mark was willing to take if it meant they both slept sounder.

Mark swallowed hard. ‘We could always share. The bed, I mean. _My_ bed. It’ll be warmer, you know,’ he added when Gary laughed nervously. Mark had hoped for a slightly more enthusiastic response, or at least one that didn’t make him feel like he’d just said something utterly stupid.

‘Hang on, Mark, we’re not—’ Gary stammered, ‘I mean, _God_ , it’s a bit—’

Mark had come up with some strange ideas in the past, but this one was taking the piss. Gary felt uncomfortable enough _sharing a dressing room_ with his mates at times, and lately he’d even insisted on having separat _e_ dressing rooms in most arenas because he’d developed a bit of a weird insecurity complex.

Literally _sleeping_ with his mates was taking it a  step too far.

‘Just for tonight,’ Mark added quickly. ‘You know, until we get the heater fixed. Or do you wanna go back to that room of yours?’

Gary really didn’t. Given the choice between going back to his room and freezing half to death, and therefore not getting any sleep at all, or sharing a bed with Mark and potentially losing his dignity, the former suddenly seemed like the better alternative.

It seemed to be the alternative that would impact tomorrow’s performance the least, anyway.

(Or so Gary thought.)

Besides, he didn’t know how to get to his room anyway, and it’s not like he and Mark hadn’t been ...   _intimate_ before.

He _had_ once fallen asleep on a private airplane with Mark’s head resting on his shoulder, and that was all right.

This was practically the same thing, right?

‘...Right.’ Gary said uncertainly. Something about Mark’s request felt fishy, but he wasn’t going to let an opportunity to get away from his cold room either. ‘You close by?’

‘Yeah, just ‘round the corner.’

Mark led Gary to his room, which was right around the corner indeed. It was smaller than Gary’s but just as ostentatious; it had a massive four-poster bed in the middle, and long walls decorated with dark, flowery wallpaper. The biggest difference was the mess, though: Mark’s many clothes and hats were piling out of his suitcases (yes, plural), and just about every nook and cranny was filled with his shit.

Compared to this, Gary’s small bag with travel essentials and a set of bingo cards seemed positively pocket-sized.

Gary’s foot got caught in one of Mark’s jumpers that had been thrown haphazardly on the floor, and he almost fell. ‘This is a bit of a mess, this, mate.’

Mark rolled his eyes at him. ‘What? Least I didn’t forget me toothbrush,’ he said, referring to that one time when Take That were doing a promotional tour in Europe, and Gary had to borrow Mark’s toothbrush (amongst other things) because he’d left his toiletry bag  in the back of the tour van.

‘Shush,’ said Gary, not keen on taking a trip down memory lane. He gestured vaguely at Mark’s unmade bed. ‘So now what?’

Mark turned off the lights, crawled onto the bed and covered himself with the thin white sheet that was half on the floor, half on the bed. Strips of light illuminated his face and upper body and highlighted the space where a spare pillow lay. He _really_ looked a bit ridiculous in those pink pyjamas, Gary thought.

‘C’mere,’ said Mark. He patted the empty space next to him. If Mark had been an attractive woman, the gesture would have given Gary extremely mixed signals.

Hard did he pretend otherwise, but there was a time when Gary slipped into an unfamiliar bed in an expensive hotel _with an unfamiliar woman_ (or women) almost every single night. Even though Mark was a man, and one of his mates at that, this felt strangely familiar, strangely _wrong_ , like something that they would have to keep secret if they still had an obsessive, all-knowing manager.

This immediately reminded Gary of something that would certainly raise eyebrows if nosy journalists ever got wind of it, and Gary was suddenly glad that he knew several people in high-ranking press offices.

_They were definitely going to have to keep this secret._

‘You gonna stand there all day, Mr. Barlow?’ said Mark, his voice cutting through Gary’s thoughts like a knife.

Gary started. ‘Um, yeah.’ Timidly, he got into the bed, all too happy to lie on the opposite end, his face turned away from Mark’s. He didn’t want to have to look at him. Sharing this space with him was strange enough without having the feeling that someone was staring at him in his sleep.

‘Kinda beating the whole point of sleeping together there, Gaz,’ said Mark. His voice sounded very far away. Gary pretended not to hear him and adjusted the pillow under his head.

Hairs on his body that Gary didn’t know he had stood on end when Mark brushed his hands with his fingertips. Mark had moved closer, much closer: Gary could feel the heat of his body now, and the coldness started to disappear. Something about the heat radiating from Mark’s body felt familiar. Safe.

Usually, lying next to someone in bed felt uncomfortable to Gary, like an itch he needed to scratch off, but having Mark here felt nothing like that. It felt like a blanket. A hot shower.  

_God, it had been way too long._

He was going to give in.

‘Okay,’ said Gary finally, and he told Mark to turn over so that he could spoon him, which seemed like a very strange request to make the moment the words had left his mouth.

_He was going to spoon him. Christ._

Careful not to squish Mark, Gary gently wrapped his arms around his mate’s tiny waist. He almost didn’t dare touch him.

This felt extremely surreal.

The two of them weren’t exactly unfamiliar to touching (thank you, God), but all the bum squeezing and hugging they did was done almost exclusively on stage. They did it because they knew their fans liked it, and their brief moments of intimacy during gigs were almost as rehearsed as their lines in-between songs. They did it without thinking. It was something that had no hidden meaning.

So, now that Gary was spooning Mark in an unfamiliar bed, Gary suddenly found himself re-evaluating all those moments.  The times he and Mark had looked at each other during Patience. The times Mark had slapped his arse – or vice versa. He started to look at those moments differently now, like a veil had been lifted and he saw everything clearly for the first time.

Gary had never thought about being in a position like this with Mark before, but something about it felt almost perfect, like their bodies were made to fit. Their fans’ responses to the things they did together on stage suddenly started making sense.

‘Comfy?’ Mark asked Gary. Gary could hear that he was smiling. He smelled extremely nice, of strawberries and freshly washed linen.

‘Y-yeah,’ said Gary, his voice barely a whisper. He felt pretty certain that if he concentrated, he’d be able to feel Mark breathe against his fingers.

Unconsciously (or perhaps not so unconsciously at all...), Mark moved backwards a few inches. His arse was now painstakingly close to Gary’s crotch, and Gary’s heart started racing for reasons that he did not quite understand.

He’d never admit it, but it had been a while since Gary had experienced any sort of intimacy. Touring usually does that to you, and it had slowly been driving him mad, like he was some horny teenager who really needed to get laid. Lying here with Mark was the next best thing, and it made him crave a little bit more than just warmth.

God, he needed to get off.

Had Mark done this sort of thing before? Does he always end up sleeping with his band mates?

Gary suddenly imagined Mark lying in a hotel room similar to this with Rob, and an electrical surge of jealousy and desire surged through him. He’d heard the rumours last time they toured, and now Gary had an inkling that there must have been a truth to them. He must have done something like this before.

He wasn’t sure who he envied more.

_No wonder Mark loved having Rob around._

Suddenly, Gary wanted something like that too: someone to hold when the road gets lonely. A listening ear. Someone to occupy the empty space in his heart and bed.

Mark shifted a little, his arse brushing Gary’s boxers, and Gary’s cock twitched. Images he didn’t realize his brain could produce flooded his mind’s eye, and he licked his lips unconsciously.

He was getting hard.

Mark was lying in this bed next to him, and he was getting hard.

 _Shit_.

He tried to distract himself by running through a list of things that needed doing during rehearsals tomorrow, but his mind kept going back to Mark’s perky arse in those pink trousers. He tried reciting all the things that he’d have to say during the concert in his head, but his stupid brain conjured up that photo of Mark bent over in front of him that Howard had tweeted a while back. He tried battling the images with boring facts about his new piano over and over, but his mind couldn’t stop thinking about Mark’s arse pressed hard against his cock.

He had never thought about Mark like that before, but the idea of pinning Mark to the bed and subjecting him to all his sexual frustrations suddenly seemed like a not far-off reality. He wasn’t entirely sure how it would work physically, but he’d probably be able to figure it out eventually.

In other words, _he was going to hell_ , and it was just about to get worse.

‘You’re hard, Mr. Barlow.’ Mark said in a voice that Gary did not recognize, and Gary’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

_He’s noticed._

Gary felt himself go red in the face. He wanted to melt into the bed sheets, never to reappear again.

He’d _never_ felt that ashamed of himself before. It’s like someone had gone into his internet history and plastered screen caps of every shameful website he’d ever been to onto every surface for everyone to see.

 _This_ was arguably worse than that, though; at least if someone went through his internet history, he’d be able to see how they felt about his secret desires. Now, not being able to see Mark’s face, Gary had no idea how Mark felt about this embarrassing development. Was that a hint of amusement he spotted in Mark’s voice there or was that just wishful thinking?

He wouldn’t blame Mark if he never talked to him again.

In yet another unexpected development, Mark turned around and faced him, propping himself up on his elbow. The thing he said next made Gary’s ears grow red-hot: ‘I _can_ help you with that, you know.’

Gary’s world was spinning. Was Mark seriously offering him a …?  
  
In a hotel room, with the members of the Take That band two doors away?

They’d done a lot of strange, wonderful things together, but _that_?

How on Earth had they ended up here?

Gary pulled up his blanket, as though that might make everything go away. He didn’t speak, and he pressed his eyes shut when he found himself staring at Mark’s fingers a little too long.

He mustn’t think of Mark like that.

He mustn’t imagine Mark’s hands disappearing underneath his hoodie.

He mustn’t imagine Mark’s fingers moving up his chest, oh g o d

‘It’ll warm you up,’ Mark said matter-of-factly. His voice sounded weird and distorted, like he was talking to Gary from behind a thick glass wall. Nothing Gary was hearing and seeing was making sense anymore. It’s like the bed he was on was being suspended into air, and he was becoming lighter, lighter, lighter. It was only when Mark squeezed his hand reassuringly that he came crashing back to Earth again: ‘You know, just saying.’

Gary thought about it. Truth is, he _was_ cold, and super turned on for reasons that he couldn’t even begin to understand, and _hang on, it’s not like they were actually going to have sex._ Mark was simply offering a hand, quite literally; it was as ordinary as Mark giving him a massage after a long week of gigging, right?

For some reason, these arguments didn’t quite sit right with Gary, but he didn’t exactly feel like passing on this opportunity, either: his erection wasn’t going to take care of itself.

‘You, erm ... You have a point there,’ said Gary. He cleared his throat, aware that he must have sounded bloody nervous. ‘Um, okay. Yeah.’

He regretted it immediately.

_Oh fuck, what had he done now?_

‘Excellent.’ Mark said, and for what seemed like an eternity, Gary waited. He just waited. There was no preliminary kissing, no hugging — nothing to remind Gary of his previous moments of intimacy with other lovers. All Gary could do is stare at Mark in the dark while his hands reached into nothingness underneath the blank, unfamiliar canvas of blankets.

In those precious microseconds of nothingness, he tried to imagine what Mark would be like in bed, but his mind came up empty. Nothing could possibly prepare him for what was about to come. It was like he had been signed up for a last-minute gig in a dirty excuse for an arena and had had nothing arranged. It was his worst nightmare: showing up at a concert unprepared, not knowing what the fuck he had to sing or what the audience was going to be like.

He had no idea what Mark was going to be like, and his heart started racing at the thought.

He didn’t think his heart could cope with the excitement and dread building in his stomach, but then everything changed.

‘ _Ahh_.’ A pathetic whimper escaped from Gary’s mouth when Mark’s hand finally found the bulge in his boxers, and Mark smiled smugly.

_This was actually happening._

Mark squeezed Gary’s cock through his boxers, the fabric already wet, and Gary hid his face into his pillow to stop himself from moaning.

 _Jesus,_ _that felt good._

_And wrong. So, so wrong._

‘Good so far?’ said Mark as he ran his fingers up and down Gary’s cock. He was blushing now too, even though his eyes were telling a different story.

Gary nodded. He’d never been touched by a man like this before. He didn’t think it would feel that different, but it did: Mark’s ministrations were harder than a woman’s. Needier. More experienced, too; Mark knew exactly what needed to be done, like his brain was tuned into Gary’s subconscious. After all this time, Gary shouldn’t even have been surprised that they fitted together so well.

‘Didn’t think you were that big, Gaz,’ said Mark cheekily, and before Gary’s brain could so much register it, Mark’s hand had already slipped into Gary’s boxers. He was pumping his fist up and down the length of Gary’s cock fast now. Mark’s warm fingers were a stark contrast from their cold surroundings, and Gary could feel himself feeling hotter already.

Their bodies covered by sheets, Gary had no idea what Mark was _really_ doing with his hands. He was completely dependent on his other senses: his ears, picking up the sinful sounds of skin against skin. His nose, smelling that lustful combination of strawberry shampoo and sweat. His hands, not daring to touch Mark in case one  stroke would make him dissolve under his fingers, turning everything into a dream. All he knew was that whatever Mark was doing felt fucking spectacular, so when Mark suddenly wriggled out of his pyjama bottoms and underwear and rubbed his cock against Gary’s hard, Gary moaned _very_ loudly.

_He’s done this before._

 ‘Oh _Jesus,_ that’s nice,’ Gary moaned when Mark took both of their cocks in his hand and continued pumping. The friction nearly drove Gary mad, and when Mark looked at him in a way that he’d never seen before, Gary’s brain pretty much malfunctioned. This was no longer about two mates helping each other out. This was so much more complex than that, and he might as well make it worse.

Gary decided to kiss Mark there and then. _Desperately._

Another first: Gary had never _kissed_ a man before either. He wasn’t sure why, for Mark’s rough lips against his, **that taste,** and _oh shit_ _Mark’s tongue in his throat oh g o d_ made it the best kiss Gary had ever had. All that combined with the undeniably amazing feeling of Mark’s stubble against his skin made Gary decide to pull Mark on top of him, the sheets still covering their bodies. He needed more of him, **now** , and everything became an incredible blur or rolling hips and rubbing body parts and open-mouthed kisses.

Why they’d never done this before was beyond Gary.

_Why had they never done this before?_

Suddenly Mark sat up straight, his legs straddling Gary’s, and the thin white sheet that was covering them slipped down his back, revealing the hottest sight Gary had ever seen thanks to that perfect strip of moonlight that was illuminating them both: Mark jerking both of them off with one hand, his hair sticky and dirty. Mark moving up his hips like a fucking _slut._ Their ball sacks banging against each other. Mark’s free hand slipping underneath Gary’s hoodie.

Gary didn’t know what to focus on anymore. When he shut his eyes again momentarily, all he could think of was Mark’s fingers brushing up his chest like he fucking owned it.

And God, those _sounds_ : Gary knew Mark wasn’t a quiet guy, but his whimpering and moaning and groaning was borderline pornographic.

Gary wasn’t quite going to look at Mark the same way tomorrow.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

Mark continued moving his fist up and down, their cocks rubbing over one another. There were a lot of things that Gary wanted to do to Mark in that moment. Reach over and squeeze Mark’s arse. Slip his fingers inside of him. Kick him out of bed and fuck him on the floor. Find out if Mark had given a blowjob before.

These thoughts and more – thoughts that Gary never thought he’d have – were flooding his brain, but he’d never be able to act upon them, at least not today; the sensitive heads of their cocks touched again, harder, faster, and Gary climaxed immediately, his body shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. Mark followed suit not long after with the best moan Gary had ever heard, his eyes shut tight and his mouth forming a perfect ‘o’, and he collapsed on top of Gary.

For a while, Gary stared at the ceiling. It’s all he could do. He couldn’t _say_ anything, either: what they’d just been through together was the best thing he’d felt in a long time, and whatever he said next would not do it justice. Even performing in front of 20,000 tomorrow wouldn’t easily top this experience, as cheesy as it sounded.

Finally, Gary’s breathing steadied, and he was able to string together a sentence again. More or less. ‘Jesus, Mark, that was …’

Mark snuggled up next to him, his head resting on Gary’s chest like it was the most natural position in the world. His pyjama top looked ruffled and dirty. He sighed contently. ‘Good?’

Gary laughed. What an understatement. ‘Fucking amazing, actually.’

Mark chuckled smugly. ‘We could do this more often. If you want. I’ve heard that it gets quite cold up north at this time of year.’

Gary nodded, and he finally found the courage to hold Mark properly. ‘I’d love that.’

It took Gary a while to realize that the heater in Mark’s room had in fact been working perfectly.

 


End file.
